Everyday Black Matters
I remember meeting Jesus once at sex camp. It wasn’t our first meeting, but an important one.
Everyday I walked up to a giant, beautiful, colorful painting of Jesus’s head, hair blowing in the wind. The massive painting hung on the wall of the Church where I was attending a week long retreat for women being treated for female sex addiction…what I like to call ‘Sex Camp.’
When I first saw the painting I was taken aback. Great art captures one that way. And the size, my God, it was huge. I said “well hello there Jesus.” In that moment he seemed so real with his piercing brown eyes bigger than my head.
In the course of the week, every time I passed it I’d say “Hi Jesus!” I’d try to say sweetly but somewhat sarcastically “it’s another great day at sex camp!” “How are you feeling about sex camp?” “Me?” “Oh, well I feel deep shame & loathing self-pity, so there’s that. I’d rather be on a cruise. No offense.”
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